Mister Doctor

Perception check

Sharpe - Dog - AC: 28 TAC: 18 FF: 22 CMD: 26 Fort: +8 Ref: +14 Will: +11 HP: 76/76 Narrative: 4 | Perception: +14 "We need to get that letter to the druids first," Sharpe said, from his customary seat atop Dog's wooden back. He was rummaging around in one of the drawer for a flask of cool tea. Unscrewing the top, he took a long pull before offering it down to Ne'charri and Keeper. "Our pull back in Catrico might not mean much out here and I'd rather treat with those we have an in with first."

Sharpe - Dog - AC: 28 TAC: 18 FF: 22 CMD: 26 Fort: +8 Ref: +14 Will: +11 HP: 76/76 Narrative: 4 | Perception: +14 "I'd say post-haste, but if your bones really are that achy perhaps after a nap?" Sharpe teased the older man, giving him a light elbow to the ribs. "I've still got my samples from the jaunt into the Ethereal. Those should serve as a rather nice gift if we want to make a good impression with the druids. Dog is already all packed up and ready to go."

Rasalhague - KAC: 18 Fort: +9 Ref: +8 Will: +3 HP: 20/20 Hero: 1/3 | Perception: +3 Rushing into the room, Ras immediately went to try and grab the nearest of the awful little gremlins and ran headlong into perhaps the simplest and most pernicious curse on the material plane. As he snatched at the pugwampi, his foot came down on a bottle that had been knocked to the floor. He could have sworn it had not been there a moment before. The bottle rolled out from under him and Ras fell into the table, hands closing on empty air. "Shit!" Ras managed around some bruised ribs. Quickly, he threw up a hand and called upon the spell he had been gifted on the first day. A shimmering plane of seemingly insubstantial force manifested between him and the vicious dog-thing. Action 1: Stride Action 2: Try to grapple, missing with an 8 Action 3: Cast Shield as an innate cantrip

Rasalhague - KAC: 18 Fort: +9 Ref: +8 Will: +3 HP: 20/20 Hero: 1/3 | Perception: +3 Ras drew in a steadying breath, his unreal flames flaring to life with the fresh air before he pulled the broom out of the door and threw it open. Immediately, he threw a hand out, fingers upwards in a claw shape. A spot on the storeroom's floor rippled with sudden heat distortion before long tongues of fire began to lick upwards. A wave of heat poured off the sudden column of flame as it crackled and roared with the insatiable hunger of raw combustion and threw everything in the room into harsh illumination. Seeing Ras sheepishly light a torch paled in comparison to the twisting spike that he called forth now to reach up for the timbers of the ceiling. Demonstrating a surprising amount of fine control, Ras' hand snapped into a closed fist and the fires guttered out before it could light anything important on fire. "Get 'em!" Ras shouted. Area of scorching column marked in red. Previous Channel Elements spent.

Sharpe - Dog - AC: 28 TAC: 18 FF: 22 CMD: 26 Fort: +8 Ref: +14 Will: +11 HP: 76/76 Narrative: 4 | Perception: +14 "Druids? Betrayal? Were they cooperating with our lovely imperial revanchists before?" Sharpe asked, curiosity piqued by the unstated context of Ne'charri's request. He was not idealistic enough turn down the acquisition of new allies on the grounds of their past ties without due consideration but feeling out the shape of this ill-conceived conspiracy was useful. "Regardless, I'd much rather pursue a fresh lead than attempt to sort through a mountain of old supply receipts for a handful of clues."

Sounds like a good plan!

Dead Guy - KAC: 20/19 Fort: +11 Ref: +6 Will: +7 HP: 51/59 THP: 0/7 Hero: 1/3 | Perception: +7 The dead man sagged under Zea's light touch, as though it legs might give way and it would collapse. Its shoulder trembled as its face screwed up in a difficult expression As with any expression on the corpse's visage save for the clarion creases of a furious mask, reading the details took a bit of creative interpretation. Was it trying to cry through tear ducts long since seared closed? "Hhh-hurts... less... Hope hurts less," It rasped to Zea. It was a vain hope, about as hollow as the creature itself. Even so, much like the kindness it had been shown by the Ravens, it could not afford to let go of anything that gave it even fleeting relief from the rage and pain that propped it up and let it continue to put one foot in front of the other. There was no telling what would happen to the corpse if that internal metaphysical chemistry tipped over too far in the other direction but denying it what little relief it could find was a greater cruelty still.

Dead Guy - KAC: 20/19 Fort: +11 Ref: +6 Will: +7 HP: 51/59 THP: 0/7 Hero: 1/3 | Perception: +7 "Hrrk-Aye-de-olo-gee," The corpse parroted around a mouthful of crusty bread that it was steadily turning into a fine paste. It still did not seem to consider the more traditional foodstuffs served by the living to the living as truly edible, but it seemed to like to be included at meals. A good chunk of gristly meat or the thick heel of a loaf of bread was enough to keep it entirely happy. "Nnrn-Iddy...Iddyolgy." Its head swiveled to regard Rexus. His long story about a journey to becoming comfortable in his own skin seemed a bit lost on the corpse... as were most things beyond the immediate. The corpse did not have much in the way of judgements to pass, especially when it came to the difficult points of the experiences of the living but something was rattling around in its skull for a moment, single eye squinting as it reached for something. "Hrm-Ideology..." The moment passed and the corpse returned to placidly chewing on the bread, crumbs tumbling down its front as it lapsed into about as 'contemplative' a silence as it was capable of.

I think I'm ready to move on if the others are.

Sharpe - Dog - AC: 28 TAC: 18 FF: 22 CMD: 26 Fort: +8 Ref: +14 Will: +11 HP: 76/76 Narrative: 4 | Perception: +14 "We're going to need more than 'a few laborers' before we finish even the first stages. Woodcutters, masons, carpenters... You have permission to hire as needed within our budgets. Be sure to include good hazard pay. We're still not entirely secure out here and I want to remain on good terms with the skilled labor we can draw from..." Sharpe trailed off, deciding to rip the bandage off instead of letting the inevitable question get any more awkward. He was sure they had been introduced at some point but could not remember for the life of him. In his defense, Sharpe's life had become profoundly busy of late and details inevitably slipped through his grasp from time to time. "What's your name?"

Dead Guy - KAC: 20/19 Fort: +11 Ref: +6 Will: +7 HP: 51/59 THP: 0/7 Hero: 1/3 | Perception: +7 The corpse shook its head a little unsteadily, "Nnn-no." There was a long pause, the single eyelid twitching as a detail tried to sort itself in the corpse's mind. It painstakingly reviewed the limited exchange with its limited attention trying to identify the thing that was standing out as wrong to some fragment of its scattered awareness. "Hrrk-nn-not spots, not... Fff-freckles, has freckles." Another long pause as the expression shifted and, for a fleeting moment and despite the dreadful damage to its face, the corpse almost looked human again. The voice that came out of it sounded almost whole, coming from somewhere unimaginably far away. "Freckles, like her mother." But that glimmer of what it might have once been was gone almost immediately and there was just the corpse standing before Zea, a plaintive look upon those ruined features. It could shrug off clubs and blades, stride towards armed and armored enemies with a single-minded determination that did not care about danger or numbers but here the abomination was worse than helpless. "Puh-please?"

No, plumbing is going to need a lot of planning and similar while guns will be expensive and time consume and probably be his next downtime project.

Dead Guy - KAC: 20/19 Fort: +11 Ref: +6 Will: +7 HP: 51/59 THP: 0/7 Hero: 1/3 | Perception: +7 It took more than a few moments for Zea's response to fully penetrate the corpse's awareness. She had used a lot of words and was not used to navigating the corpse's particular brand of limitations. It chewed over the words in a quite literal way, single eye sliding off Zea's face to stare into the middle distance as it picked over what she had said. Still, the dead thing was nothing if not implacable as it settled on the idea that 'finding' someone did not always mean that they were going to be subject to the sort of attentions it frequently paid the people it 'found'. "Ffff-find... Khhk-keep sssafe," was what it settled on. It was not practiced at giving other people directions, much less asking for help. After another awkward pause of other considerations slowly fitting into place, it jabbed a finger at the first card. "Buh-brown hair. Hhh-horns. Tail." Each detail seemed like it was being hauled up from some unimaginable depth, the corpse's limited vocabulary and fragmented memories fighting it every step of the way. It gestured at its face vaguely, not having the right words. "Sss-spots all over. Khh-feet make... clop sound." Another pause before it pointed to the other card. "Sss-small," was all the corpse could manage to describe what was, judging by the date, a baby.

"I don't understand mortals, I really don't," the masked bird lamented as the assembled gaggle watched the man get back up, pulling himself out the rippling surface for what had to be the twentieth or thirtieth time at this point. Each time he got back up, he would start for some abstract direction that must have felt like a path to the mortal world, resisting the flow of all that was right in the natural order. Each time one of the assembled entities would have to step in to put him back down. "Iff tupid," a rough, pained voice managed. Beside the bird was a strange amalgam of exposed bone and bestial features. The body was dark and muscular, like some sort of stocky hunting cat, but sprouting from a mane of black feathers was the perfectly pale skull of crocodile... one that had been half-smashed and was slowly reassembling itself through esoteric means. Fragments of bone floated into place from where they had been scattered and fused into a coherent whole. Never particularly talkative or insightful, the blow that had splintered bone and now impeded what little this beast had to say only further soured its mood. "The mortal heart is full of contradictions," a considerably more musical voice spoke up with a note of benevolent indulgence, "At once easily distracted but entirely myopic. Sometimes they just need a gentler hand." She was a grim beauty. A full, perfect skeleton dressed in the simple gown a peasant woman might wear to a village festival. There were flowers of purple, red, and yellow woven into her long black braid and hanging in the crook of one arm a basket of more. She stepped forward, her bare and skeletal feet making the surface of the not-water ripple as she put herself in the path of the man. "Come to me," she bade the flickering figure, "You have struggled long to grasp justice for those taken from you but the tides of death only flow one way, dear soul, and it would sadden them to see you suffer so. Please, come to me and know rest." Her voice was gentle, cool as a damp cloth in the midst of a fever. It promised relief, an end to fighting and pain if only he would finally let the currents pull him up and away from mortal concerns. There was no denying that voice, even if she did not threaten or command. The man took a halting step towards her, the blade he had bent his soul into dipping down to trail against the not-water. Then another staggering step, and another. Would it be so bad to finally give in? He did not know what awaited him at the end of the river. He did not think he would see those he had lost again but oblivion was its own reward. Another step. Another. "That's it," she murmured to him, her bony hands reaching out to caress the side of his face and welcome him in for a single kiss to send him on his way. It was right then that a hand came up, gripped her exposed skull and shoved her aside. It would be so bad.